Tigers, Not Daughters - Samantha Mabry Page 0,12

through. It was overwhelming. Sometimes, like in that very moment, it was too overwhelming. And when things got too overwhelming, Iridian wished she could just shut herself down.

“Your sister died,” Rafe said slowly, “because she was keeping secrets.”

God, she hated him. Her hate was a sour film coating the back of her throat.

“My sister died,” Iridian countered, just as slowly, “because she was trying to get away from you.”

She stepped back into her room and tried to slam the door, but Rafe was too quick and caught it. His other hand whipped out and wrapped around Iridian’s upper arm.

“Apologize,” Rafe demanded.

“No!”

“You’re a miserable girl. Because you’re a miserable girl you try to make everyone else miserable.”

Maybe that was true—but was it possible that Rafe thought Iridian was the only miserable girl in his house?

“You spread your misery,” Rafe hissed, squeezing harder. “You’re like a disease.”

Iridian wrenched her arm free, slammed her door, and bolted it from the inside. She then braced herself there, with both palms and her forehead pressed against the wood, ready for her father to kick the door down or other-wise try to force his way in. She breathed in and out, inhaling the particles of the paint on the door, the particles of Ana. Eventually, Iridian heard Rafe’s footsteps receding down the hall. There was a pause and then a slight rattle as he tried the knob on Jessica’s locked door. Then there were more steps, hard and heavy, as Rafe went down the stairs.

Iridian counted to one hundred, and then to one hundred again. The weak limbs she would’ve used to fight her father started to feel even weaker, like foam. Just blow on her and she’d scatter. Once she was fairly certain that her dad wasn’t going to come back, Iridian raced to her bed, reached for her notebook, and smacked it to her chest. She was used to her dad throwing out all kinds of insults: little ones that barely pricked and big ones that were meant to crack bone. The best ones were the ones Iridian could snatch out of the air and then save for later, when she’d make them her own. If she could take Rafe’s words—no matter how hard or hurtful they were—and write them in her own hand, it transferred their power and made her feel less insignificant. Iridian needed that, to feel less insignificant.

She reached for her pen and opened to a fresh page.

You’re like a disease, she wrote.

Jessica

(Monday, June 10th – early Tuesday, June 11th)

“It attacked a little boy in his own front yard, then ran off with one of those peque?o dogs,” the older woman said. “What kind is that?”

“A Chihuahua?” Jessica offered.

“No, no. More fur.”

“Uh . . . a Yorkie?”

“Sí, a Yorkie.”

“Oh. Well,” Jessica said. “Your total is $14.23.”

The woman on the other side of the register took out her wallet, handed Jessica a bank-fresh hundred-dollar bill, and then dumped out all her coins on the counter to hunt for exact change. Of course this was happening while Jessica was the only person working checkout, and while there were five other people in line who were starting to get visibly impatient. One of them was rocking side to side, right foot to left foot to right foot, like he had to go to the bathroom. A man holding a baby in a car seat with one hand and a jug of laundry detergent with the other let out a loud sigh. The old lady ignored him, or she didn’t hear him. She bent over the counter and squinted, trying to tell the difference between a penny and a moldy dime.

Jessica picked up the intercom. “Backup to the registers.”

“I stopped letting out my cat,” the lady said, still hunched. “All night he scratches at the back door, but I don’t want Hudspeth snatched up by a hyena. Can you imagine?”

A high school–aged girl joined the line. She was trying to hide a pregnancy test in the sleeve of her hoodie and was biting her lip like she was about to burst into tears.